by Ralph Badagliacca
Shakespeare shaped the language.
Some say he invented it.
Wilde and Shaw spun expressions of unrelenting wit.
Whitman taught the mother tongue
How to sing for us;
Yeats scaled the beauty of her lonely peaks.
Joyce uncovered something new,
And so did Eliot.
But unlike Yogi, none of them could hit.
Taken from Ralph’s book, The Yogi Poems, available here.
Published in History, New York Yankees, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | 1 Comment